Archive for humor

….that tempt you to fill a super soaker with gasoline and purge the world of dumb with holy fire….

Anyone who insists on introducing themselves as the 2nd or 3rd or whatever other denomination. I don’t give a good gutfuck if you happen to be Percy Clanston Whithermeyer III, and neither does anyone else! You know what they say about all sequels to movies being shittier than the originals?! Well that shit is true for people too fucker. You are the shitty replica of someone who came before you…..and they were probably alot cooler. I’m not saying it’s not endearing to be named after your grandfather who stormed Normandy or the like, but you know what? Save that story for when i’ve actually expressed an interest in your sordid family lineage…..I promise you’ll know when I actually care.

SUB POINT – if anyone ever introduces themselves as Blah Blah Esquire…..you’re officially allowed to expose their frontal lobe with an icepick

SUB POINT 2 – you don’t need to sign every fucking document with your little roman numeral reminder that your parents are uncreative dicksmokers, really you can just sign the dominoes receipt like a normal person..because I assure you that when the archaeologists of the eons unearth it, that the irony of you ordering a pizza with pepperoni on it while your grand daddy whom you are named after died behind a butcher’s shop with a salami log jammed up his butt in the 1950’s for being a communist will be lost on them.

Anyone over the age of 17 who can’t debate like an adult. I like to debate shit; whether it’s politics, religion, literature, movies, music you name it and I can forge a pointless hardline view from which to aggressively argue until blue in the face. It’s like a free adrenaline rush that doesn’t have to end with my face marred by a liberal application of concrete. But god damned if some of these chucklefucks haven’t learned to at least argue better than a primate. Typically when I start spouting off like a dick I at least support my theorem or opinion with SOME KIND OF DATA. You know like…..numbers or facts or maybe even a published article if i’m feeling really saucy. Usually about that time the orangutan on the other side of the debate will begin to fidget and talk increasingly louder as a defense mechanism. It’s funny to watch a grown adult devolve into a toddler right in front of your eyes as they resort to something that used to work on the playground. If you watch really close you can watch their arms twitch as their inner ape struggles to win the debate by shitting in their open palm and tossing it at your face. Really I’d have more respect for you if you just did that instead of just trying to yell over me.

SUB POINT – Arguing on the internet does not adhere to these rules. Search the archives of alt.troll for a full tutorial on this…..bring popcorn

SUB POINT 2 – Some of you self proclaimed geniuses may be suffering some cognitive dissonance as you asperger on the common expression that most facts are made up on the spot. Sure i’ll give you that, in fact i’ve prolly done it, but if you don’t have the mental agility to make up some better bullshit than me, then you still deserve to lose the argument.

Also while on the subject of aspies; anyone who has ridiculous fears or compulsions beyond the age of 4 should be encased in a room with that shit until either they swallow their own tongue or get the fuck over it. If you have a driver’s license, a debit card and are physiologically capable of procreating you aren’t allowed to be afraid of the sound of yellow OK? It just doesn’t work like that. You want adult privileges yes? Well then I can’t have you obsessively counting the cirrus clouds on the drive to work and then frothing at the mouth when it’s not a prime number.

So I’ve come to realization that these “Real Housewives of Wher-ever-the-fuck” shows are the absolute prime example of the downfall of Western Civilization. Every single woman depicted on these shows is a shallow, self-aggrandizing gold-digger who doesn’t have an ounce of talent or any marketable skills to speak of other than popping out babies and letting nannies raise them. Every single one of these bitches has followed the same basic plan of attack –

Marry into Money

Divorce poor schlub with money and take 50% of his net worth, plus alimony and whatever else her grubby botox mitts can snag including houses, cars, boats etc

Repeat Step 2 if more money is needed to spend on moronic business ventures and/or shitty acting/singing careers

Miraculously no matter where the show is set (Orange County, New Jersey, Atlanta, New York) all of the women featured seem to have mastered this truly ingenious scheme. Below is only one stunningly embarrassing way these leeches spend the money they’ve sucked-fucked-divorced into.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

REALLY BITCH?!?!?!?

PRO-TIP: MONEY ALSO CANNOT BUY YOU A VOICE YOU SHALLOW TALENTLESS CUNT (also I hope standing next to all that expensive musical equipment that STILL CAN’T MAKE your awful excuse for a singing voice sound better, irradiates your uterus and renders you barren so can’t infect the world with anymore of your lineage)

She sounds like two cats fucking in an alley who get broken up by one of them slipping ass first into a blender. It’s truly fucking horrible. AND WHO THE FUCK IS THAT PRODOUCHER?!?! Later in the clip he exclaims how awesome she sounds and then without missing a fucking ass-kissing breath as he no doubt rakes in several hundred dollars of her ‘hard earned’ cash unbelievably compares her..

to…

Madonna……….

Let that shit sink in for a second. Seriously that piece of shit is a walking, talking example of the AIDS in the music industry I bet he also praises Fallout Boy for not selling out and wants to intern for P-Diddy so he can really get a taste of what the industry is like. Hopefully this dickfuck catches a stray 9mm in the face whilst standing in front of the Virgin superstore in Times Square debating the finer points of Ashely Simpson’s vocal stylings.

I hope Madonna never sees that because I know if someone compared me to the Countess pictured above I’d want to suck on a buckshot milkshake real fucking fast. Oh and yes you read that last sentence correctly. The caterwauling harpy in the above 15 seconds of pure aural torture goes by Countess.

THE COUNTESS OF WHAT BITCH??? You live in New York. This great magical land from which you hail as Countess must not be that awesome since you moved to fucking New York instead. I like to imagine she hails from the far away Duchy of Leechcunt, where all Countesses learn the courtesan skills of spending other people’s money and talking shit about people she deems beneath her.

It is my sincere hope that after her thankless leech spawn have sucked at her golden tit well into their 40’s that they unceremoniously dump her dried up ass in the worst retirement home they can find. I hope she then gets the royal treatment she so deserves of eating oatmeal through a straw and shitting in an adult diaper for the remainder of her days.

It’s an oft mentioned word. “Karma’s a Bitch”, you’ll hear people say all the time. The boomerang effect of all the evil you do. The problem though is it’s not very mindful of the need for vindication. See I badly need to be around when that asshole gets his. I want to be standing on the side of the street sipping slurpee when the gas truck overturns and pins the evil corporate fuck under it. I need to KNOW he burned alive for all the horrible shit he did to me and others. The few times i’ve made the effort to follow up on people I knew had a karma backlash aimed directly at their head I was pleasantly surprised.

White Trash Lead singer of 1st band?- Never could find a band to play with him again, laughing stock of home town, possible herpes, possible skin cancer- 6 years till karma payoff

Pretty good so far….but damnit if I haven’t had to wait for these things. Plus I then had to dredge up the memory of the injustices i’d suffered at the hands of these grade A human landfills. But this time….I really need Saturn to send this one back around quickly. This guy needs it. I imagine the universe has a bus sized enema ready and waiting for the right time for this asshole. To the leader who demands his team work 50,60,70 hours a week, but can be caught napping in his office regularly. To the greedy fat fuck who lays off people who haven’t worked for more than two weeks alongside people who worked 70 hour weeks for no overtime so his company could survive. To the simple minded child who lays these people off then spends thousands of company dollars on toys and non-sense. To you, you son of a bitch I say, KARMA IS COMING MOTHERFUCKER.

I just hope I’m on the sidelines the day she does show up to finally have her way with you. I hope i’m just lucky enough to be seated in a lawn chair sipping long islands and eating popcorn. And I hope she forgets to bring her lube.

So I used to work in this cube farm office, lifted directly out of the movie Office Space. The job was ok in that mindless automaton kind of way. I imagine it was very similar to the many thousands of office jobs that were only semi-technical inside a company that had been around for decades; the majority of the staff was near retirement, change was feared, the concept of double-clicking to open a file or folder was still alien to most, and everyone…..EVERYONE was a complete whacko just under the surface. Not like zany funny whacko who talks to office furniture either. These quacks were the kind of terrifying normally reserved for being cellmates of Gacy and Dahmer. Like the kind of mouthbreathing troglodyte who comes to work with his pants pockets filled with raw hotdogs….which he never eats….and tells people they are for his dogs….which he doesn’t own.

So after your mind is done recoiling in horror at that imagery let’s talk about cubicle etiquette. Particularly the kind dealing with food. For the majority of my time at this job the cubicle neighboor directly to my left was woman in her late 50’s. She was run of the mill office hen; couldn’t be nicer to your face, but also couldn’t wait to get to the cafeteria to cluck about everyone and everything. This was pretty standard in the office, gossip was the economy system that kept things moving. But the real crazies come out at night…..see we worked the late shift, so by the time everyone else left, a few of us stayed on for a few more hours. This is when Food Porn happened. Food Porn is a term I coined in trying to describe what occured only a few feet from me every night. See my neighboor was on every diet in the book. Being a bigger gal she knew that as soon as she was out of the room all the other hens were clucking away about her gecko tatoo that now resembled godzilla. So during the day she flaunted all the diets, and workouts, and pills she was on to the other hens, attempting to prove she was doing things right. But once they left, the game was up….and Food Porn was in full swing.

She would eat from the time they left, till the time we left. Everyone ate at their desks….and that wasn’t the problem. It was the noise. The sounds she made after waiting all day to dig into her buffalo chicken salad and salmon cakes and HUGE bowl of walnuts and nachos and meatball subs and onion rings……the sounds will stay with me for the rest of my time on earth. Every bite was a perverse squeal of joy that could only be akin to what it would sound like if you genetically spliced an oink and an orgasm. I don’t begrudge her eating a shit ton of junk food, I do the same thing regularly. What boggles the mind is that she did so in such a way with myself, and a few others sitting there listening to it. SHE HAD to be aware of the sounds she was making. Maddening. That’s the only word I have for it. AND THE SMELLS!!!! For god’s sake, and the love of all that is holy….if you work in an office DO NOT MICROWAVE FISH and bring it back to your desk where other humans are sitting. If you do this it is perfectly acceptable for them to use a staple remover on your genitals. DO YOU KNOW what microwaved 2 day leftover salmon smells like??? It smells like toolshed sex. The smells and the sounds made such a perfect mixture that if i closed my eyes the only thing I could see was a roman orgy dipped in KFC gravy…….scarred for life.